They put a knockout in the tea they served to everyone, and left a note of apology by the sleeping forms. A tear slid down a tired face, weapons strapped on, this would be the last battle. Live or die, the danger would finally be over. But this time, their friends would be spared, they would face it alone. -- Anon Guest
Promise Hardbattle had made the tea ceremony a ritual before facing any enemy. He and his friends sharing one last brew before their next uncertain fate.
"I hate prophecies," he said, nursing his cup as the others sipped at the aromatic liquid. "According to the word of some blind, mad old bat, I don't live to see my fiftieth birthday. And that's tomorrow."
"Prophecies are horseshit," said Doomsong as they stretched their bad leg. "Remember that tea-reader in Nifesbridge? Said I'd die next to my best friend."
"I can bring a soul back to its body," added Celestielle Jalal, the group's Cleric. "We need not fear death."
"I do need to fear your death." Promise tipped out his cup. "It's why I doped your tea with sleeping potion."
"You son of a..." Doomsong's eyes fluttered, and they fell over into the rugs lining the tent's floor.
Promise took the time to make sure Doomsong wouldn't swallow their tongue. The rest were going to be fine. That old mad hag had also said that anyone fighting beside him on his last day would also die.
His friends were going to live.
A Hellkin steps out with all his arms and armaments ready for battle. He had made his name of his Promise to never die easily. He was never going to just lay down and submit to the first thing anyone ever taught him.
The only good Hellkin is a dead Hellkin.
He refused to let them win. If this was his last day alive, he was going to make them sweat for his death. Promise let his anger loose. Shadows went wild around him. Anyone who came too close would hear hateful whispers in multiple tongues. The colour of light would redden.
With any luck at all, he'd last some seconds longer because some of them would be too frightened to strike.
There was no way six could defend this pass against ten thousand. There was no chance one could to the same thing. If Promise fell, then so would Bendihollow.
He waited until he had no chance of winning, and tore off the necklace he had stolen from Kneez Scutemarsh. A necklace of exploding spheres. Fifteen tiny little beads that, on impact with a solid surface, would detonate a sphere of destructive flame forty feet across.
The pass would collapse.
A Hellkin would die.
And a whole valley would be safe from a warlord.
Fair trade.
"Fuck you all," roared Promise as he swung the necklace into the stones by his hooves. Fifteen devastating explosions went off at once.
Hellkin did not burn easily, but they did burn. Promise felt the heat of the explosions for a little longer than those around him.
Rocks fell. Everyone there died.
Bendihollow would know peace forevermore. Thanks to the closing of this pass, no empire of conquerers would ever bother its residents again. A few brave merchants or travellers may risk the pass that closed in the winter, but it wasn't wide or safe enough for entire armies.
That was all he could think as his soul left his body. He floated up, watching the thwarted army try and fail to scale the collapsed cliffs. Watching Kneez trying to dig through to where is remains were.
Stupid-ass Doomsong was passing out rocks as Knees kept digging. Promise wanted to warn them. Wanted to keep them away. Wanted to stop at least one prophecy.
His friends were doomed to die by his side.
Then something pulled him down.
Light. Pain. Rocks under his back. Celestielle holding his knee. And the others all around.
Alive.
"You idiots," he said, laughing in spite of himself.
"We might yet die by your side," said Kneez. "But not today."
"Missed your birthday by the way," said Doomsong. "But now you'll have others."
Bendihollow was out of danger at last. Maybe they could retire. Be neighbours, and grow crops.
It felt like a nice idea.
[Photo by Andy Watkins on Unsplash]
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